The UCAS Form
by Werepuppy Black
Summary: It's a very normal part of your senior years in school; the dreaded UCAS form. How does Vlad do when faced with his?


**_A/N:_**_ Because I remembered how evil these forms where, and just how much teachers would bug you about them during your senior years._

* * *

"You shouldn't have gone to the assembly," was Ingrid's summation of the it. Vlad groaned, head still buried in his arms. "If you weren't so eager to please them, like the goody two fangs you are, you wouldn't be in this position," she added, smugness in her tone.

"I know," he groaned. "My form tutor wants to check my progress with it on Friday," he added. He looked at the pile of glossy prospectuses he had been handed during the one-on-one session he'd attended during last period.

"You could always skive off," Ingrid suggested. "I told you, you should have dropped out after your 16th."

"I _know_," he groaned again, and reburied his head. Ingrid rolled her eyes.

**xXx**

"Have you seen any courses you like the sound of?" Erin asked, picking at the salad in front of her. Getting a vegetarian option at the school cafeteria was fairly easy; but that didn't necessarily mean they were all that appetising. Renfield's cookery actually had more flavour to it, and he'd just learnt gristle was something no one liked.

Vlad shrugged, shoving food around on his plate. "It doesn't matter, Erin," he said, poking at the food with boredom. "It's not like I can actually go. I'll just... skip that class, or something," he suggested without any real conviction in the idea. Erin swallowed some water, and shrugged.

"Aren't there, like, vampire unis?" she asked. Vlad rolled his eyes.

"Not _good_ ones," he muttered viciously. "The pursuit of further education has never really caught on in the vampire world," he explained. "If you want to specialise in something, well, you get a tutor, and I've got one of those." Giving up with the plate in front of him, Vlad shoved it back, and lay his forehead on the table.

**xXx**

"Vladimir!" The Count's call rang throughout the quarters, and Vlad didn't bother to move from his sofa. "Vladimir!" Sure enough, the Count did the speed-thing, and stormed into his room, pointin a finger at him, "when I call, you answer. I am still in charge."

"What is it, Dad?" Vlad sighed, not looking up.

"The charming Miss McCauley has been speaking with me," the Count said after a moment. "Informed me that the You-Cas forms are due in soon, and that you have neglected to make any attempt on one." The Count glared down at his son, who was staring off into the middle distance.

"Dad, do you even know what the UCAS form is?" Vlad asked, sounding expectedly tired.

"Not exactly," he admitted, "but the Year 12s assure me it's a delightful form of torture," the grin that lit up the Count's face would have terrified any breather who had the misfortune of seeing it. "And you really ought to get more torture practice in! You're really behind, you know!"

"Yes, Dad," Vlad sighed again. He wondered idly if it would be breaking the truce if he happened to point hungry vampires at the creators of the UCAS form.

No, probably not. The Slayers might even thank him for that one.

**xXx**

"You haven't filled in a UCAS form." Vlad wondered how Bertrand knew. "Your form tutor told me, I was," a pause. "Miss McCauley convinced the Count it was in the best interests of the school that I step in as substitute." Bertrand shifted. "Again."

"Year 11?"

"Year 8." Vlad winced sympathetically. Bertrand didn't react. "But you haven't filled in a form?" On Vlad's shaking of his head – really, he ought to get out of the habit of offering that as an answer – Bertrand frowned. "Why not?"

"Because." Vlad said, laughing incredulously. "Bertrand, what uni would I be able to go to? Don't think any of them have underground tunnels I can use to get to any lectures," he laughed again, but perhaps a little more bitterly. "Anyway, when I turn 18, I won't have the time to go, will I?"

"The Count didn't inform you then?" Vlad stared, and Bertrand gave a non-expression that he was fairly certain was akin to the rolling of the eyes. "The Council had decided that it would be better if you were … more prepared for your role," Bertrand explained, "I believe you should have received a letter from them?"

An image of the letter destroyed by Wolfie's teeth flashed in Vlad's head. "I … might have," he said slowly. "So, what? They want me to go to university?" Bertrand gave a nod and Vlad retook his position of clueless staring. "What?"

"Money, and position, are able to work wonders, Vlad," Bertrand said. "You happen to be in a position of both." There was silence. "Fill in the form, and show me. I'll make the enquires needed."

"Wait, I still need to fill in the UCAS form?"

"Of course," Bertrand said, "it was created by the Council, after all."

Somehow, it all made sense.


End file.
